


as my body wilts

by damnneovelvet



Series: to write or not to write [6]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood Drinking, Consensual, Half-Vampires, Light Masochism, Lipstick & Lip Gloss, M/M, Mirrors, Mutual Masturbation, Narcissism, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-cest Undertones, Wine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:53:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28134255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/damnneovelvet/pseuds/damnneovelvet
Summary: Won't you kiss me, the mirror seems to ask and Donghyuck does because nothing lasts forever, not even his seemingly indomitable will.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Lee Donghyuck | Haechan, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee
Series: to write or not to write [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1913998
Comments: 10
Kudos: 74





	as my body wilts

**Author's Note:**

> Everything is consensual, don't worry. This happened because I kept thinking of the manga 'Kasane' I think. But I don't really know what this is. Don't ask me.
> 
> imp cw // body dysmorphia, tiny bit of body horror, self-image ???  
> idk, not edited and not beta read, all mistakes and weird choices belong to late night me. I am sleep deprived and I just wrapped this up. Enjoy reading.

Nothing lasts forever, not even the slickness of Mark's heated skin under Donghyuck's nails, and cheap lipstick tastes bad, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. But this will have to do because it makes Mark look pretty and he wants to have a pretty boy more than he wants to care about the tinge of gloss running down his throat. 

Donghyuck's fingers press harsh circles into Mark's shoulders as he is fucked steadily. He moans low as he buzzes with heat before Mark thrusts another gasp out of him.

"Fuck, harder," he cries out.

Donghyuck blinks with difficulty, the tips of his fringe covering his eyes — too wet to keep open — and saliva gathers at the corner of his mouth as he is pressed against the pillows beneath him with a force uncharacteristic of Mark. Even then, it isn't harsh enough. Donghyuck digs his heels against a bone and he doesn't care where he pushes, he just wants his body to be shaken up. He wants to feel the rough burn of cotton against his back. The thrusting speeds up. It hits his prostate again and again and there is nothing but the rush of incomprehensible words and echoing pleasure in his brain. 

There is only a single part of him that throbs and lives and who is he as a person if not this flame that burns his head beginning from his temples and eats his ears. 

"Donghyuck —" He hears his name, "Hyuck, I think —"

"Fast," he mouths against lips that suddenly crash against his. Their teeth clink but he doesn't care. The momentary distraction dies once there is a _sensation_ on his cock and Donghyuck, too, dies in his husk of a humanoid body as his gums prickle with an unearthly pain.

His teeth fucking hurt and his mouth is dry. His mouth is dry. He needs to bite, to feed, to wet his tongue in blood. 

"Bite me already," Mark says, then he licks Donghyuck's cheekbone unhurriedly, completely different from the pace he set for his dick to "Do it, Hyuck, don't wait." 

And Donghyuck doesn't need to be asked twice to bare his fangs and find the sweetest spot he knows will make Mark's world spin. Hot blood gushes into his mouth. He sucks and gulps and leaves behind very little. His head is thrice as heavy as it normally is. His limbs aren't his own and they writhe to gather control but he can't let them. Then he pushes himself up on his elbows and licks, Mark's name running through his severed stream of awareness. He huffs out a deep breath as he falls back onto the bed and then Mark falls next to him, his expression blissed out. Donghyuck doesn't even notice when Mark's dick slips out of him. He chalks it up to the thick smell of iron and the wetness pooling on his abdomen.

He doesn't know how long they stay there in the dim gold lighting. The curtains are drawn. The bedroom door is locked. Mark's unsteady groaning roots Donghyuck in place. 

"Are you okay?" Donghyuck asks. He rubs leftover gloss from a spot on Mark's cheek. He nods.

"Baby…" Mark whispers, fingers gliding along his skin to turn Donghyuck towards him for a final kiss, lips making the only sound that fills the room. Donghyuck licks past his lips and into his mouth, licking the raphe before letting his tongue glide against Mark's for a few seconds. 

They split apart to breathe then fall into orbit again. Mark runs his tongue along Donghyuck's upper lip. It earns him an impatient noise from the back of Donghyuck's throat. Then they kiss lazily, simply pressing lip to lip and sucking until that too, becomes a task with the tiredness hitting their bones.

When Donghyuck sits up on his knees, he breaks the kiss to look at his boyfriend. Mark pants harshly and his hands slip from their place to fall onto the bed. He seems powerless like this, no one would believe this harmless man could ever fuck anyone roughly. His eyes are lidded and Donghyuck knows from experience that he will fall asleep any second now. The lightheadedness of alcohol and having his blood drunk is enough to exhaust Mark so much that he won't wake up till morning even if a parade marches by their apartment.

"Thank you," Mark says, smiling. Donghyuck smiles fondly as he replies with a _thank you_ of his own.

He giggles as he leans down to peck Mark's cheek, smearing it with spit, even if his lips throb with ache. It will be a pain to wash off all the wine and gloss from their bodies but it's a problem for future them.

As soon as Mark is asleep, Donghyuck gets up from the bed to clean up. He slips on the bathrobe he had taken off earlier and smiles. His thighs ache and so does his back, but he hasn't felt this happy in days. He wants to open the windows and dance in the nude, fuzzy with ecstasy and the satisfaction of blood coating him on the inside. He feels invincible. As he takes a step to go to the bathroom and get a wet towel to clean them both, he catches his eye in the full-length mirror. He stops. He walks closer to the mirror — every dirtied book and cranny suddenly becoming visible — and stares at himself. He looks ruined.

He looks as if he were eaten, scavenged, and as if there never existed a time before he fell into bed today. He seems to have been this glowing leftover of a monstrosity since forever.

But nothing lasts forever. Not even the dips of Donghyuck's face, not even the scent of his dying rose candle.

He looks into the mirror, at his lips pulled taut into a tilted, heart-shaped bow. There is cum drying on his hands, on his chest, and the heady taste of Mark's glittery lipgloss remains seeded where Donghyuck's tongue pokes on the inside of his cheek. He tastes of Mark. There is no ounce of Donghyuck left in him, in his mouth, in his ass, in the little hole of his chest where his soul was meant to stay.

Nothing lasts, except for the cloying stickiness that resides beneath his skin — glueing bone to bone — keeping the deepest layers locked in place. 

Donghyuck would know. 

He has lived an eternity pretending to be painfully mortal, pulling sickly smiles onto his face and shedding tears, all the while burning on the inside to sink his fangs into the nearest body. 

He cleans his mouth tenderly, careful not to hurt himself, with a large cotton pad and a pump of make-up remover. His fingertips feel cool as he cleans his lips. Goodbye sparkly lipgloss, goodbye the taste of Mark.

Behind him, Mark turns over in his sleep, tangling in the bedsheets and breathing deeply, mumbling as he often does. Donghyuck's chest squeezes with affection. This is the man he has chosen to spend his never-ending life with. He looks at Mark's back through the mirror, littered with bruises — both new and old — and his chest tightens even further. Donghyuck loves him. He has loved Mark for so long he doesn't remember when it began. And Mark loves him. He knows that. Yet, there is some part of Donghyuck that refuses to believe Mark will stay with him until the end of time.

Someday, this won't be enough. Maybe his trust towards Mark doesn't extend beyond his belief that the world is built on a scaffold of deception. 

As long as Mark chooses to stay, Donghyuck will keep him. 

He picks up the glass of wine he abandoned earlier that evening, and his reflection grimaces hiding behind the cover of red wine. A few drops escape his mouth and drop down his chin, then fall onto his robe, staining it. He can't bring himself to care. He savours the temporary numbness of his tongue more than any other thought clawing its way into his head. 

He licks his freshly bared lips. He wants them red. He wants them full, plush and red enough to kiss himself senseless. 

He picks up a tube of liquid lipstick from the dresser and unscrews it, dipping it in with enough care that nothing spills but with enough rashness that the silence of his bedroom is replaced by squelching.

He rubs the sticky red against his lips. Once from the top to the edge, tucked in where he forces himself not to frown. Then again from the top to another edge, this time with fingers that glide steadily despite their desire to quiver and break. He wants to dig. Dig so hard that the layers come rubbing off — rolling off the stratum corneum and then breaking the epidermis — finally reaching where everything hot and warm lives, deep below. A touch and he would bleed. He would paint himself red with the scent of iron and none of this overly acrid dollar store gloss would have to breathe where it shouldn't. 

He digs his teeth into his bottom lip. It blushes. Just for him. It blooms, tinged with sharp pain, and it bounces with indents of ownership. A laugh springs to his throat but he holds it in.

Donghyuck doesn't smile but his reflection does. And of course, it does. A grin stretches with malice, with sharp, pointy teeth asking to be touched. He raises a hand to trace his features on the mirror. He slides a fingertip down his nose, leaving a smudged trail, then he taps the moles on his cheek gently with his nails. He sets down the wine glass to flatten his palms against the cold surface and presses his body closer, the smooth skin of one leg brushing against the smooth skin of the other. 

He breathes in deeply, waiting to catch a whiff of something but he gets nothing. He's too used to this. His head doesn't register the muskiness of sex or his flavoured candles anymore, and the wine is gone — washing his throat and washing his intestines of the blood he keeps throwing at them — there is nothing to smell but himself. What does he even smell like? He doesn't know. 

Mark says he loves it, the way Donghyuck tastes, but how would Donghyuck know when this is his own body? He smells like expensive body oil perhaps. Maybe he smells like factory-manufactured soap that refuses to foam. He doesn't know. He wishes he did.

He presses the tip of his tongue against a sharp canine and allows the tooth to scrape across the edge. It stings. He tastes the slightest bit of his own blood. It's the same as Mark's. This is a fact he has known and every time he tests it, it remains the same. This is simultaneously comforting and like a dagger to his abdomen. Does he deserve it? He probably doesn't. Donghyuck prods his neck and then his chest, right where he is decorated in bruises that claim him. It doesn't hurt. He sneers. 

Why. Why does he want something his partner is afraid to give him with this intensity. Why can't he just wait?

Mark shuffles and the bedsheets rustle under his weight. He must be looking for Donghyuck's heat, his warm body wrapped around his as it should be. Yet, here he is, admiring himself in the mirror, like the fool he is. His hair screams that he's been used like the people equivalent of a sex toy. His legs tremble and his lower back aches deliciously with the reminder of what this night has been. He is an insufferable liar. 

This Lee Donghyuck trying to hide in the mirror — in a world that can't be touched — is fleeting in everything but essence. His existence swallows himself whole, as it must, because if he doesn't destroy himself, others will destroy him and he is too precious to be broken at the hands of poison-spewing bastards.

He does want to be broken. He wants to be torn into pieces. Mark loves him too much and he will never do it, no matter how many times Donghyuck asks, he won't. But it is a sign of great love to give their loved one whatever they want. Mark fails there. Donghyuck knows just one other person who loves him in the same way and would slice his consciousness apart the way he desperately needs it. Himself. He loves himself as much as someone can. He cares. He looks after himself. He wants to fuck till he cries louder than he ever has, both of him, and he wants to bite into his neck the way he does with Mark, and worse since he knows he can't die if the body is sucked dry. He wants to kiss, kiss, _kiss_! 

As vile as Donghyuck admits he is — he must be, keeping in such filthy scenes of imagination to himself — it is maddening how bad it makes him horny. His sensitive cock twitches where it is pressed against the mirror and he groans, just for his own ears, then focuses on Mark a few steps away, his rhythmic image pleasing to the eyes and further planting thoughts of chasing a second orgasm in Donghyuck's mind.

Theoretically, if Donghyuck could have himself, he would never need another man. Not even his boyfriend and the thought makes him feel guilty. Even then, he can't deny the fact that he knows himself best inside and out, what he craves, what makes him lose control, what makes him want to continue living forever even though eternity drives people crazy.

 _Won't you kiss me_ , the mirror seems to ask and Donghyuck does because nothing lasts forever, not even his seemingly indomitable will. 

He presses his lips against his reflection's, ignoring the soreness, and there is red in his vision just before he closes his eyes, staining the glass, between short and ragged lines, almost as if filled with smudged ink. He pushes a little more because why not. If he must succumb to insanity, he will go slowly, and this wouldn't be the first time he does this. He has kissed his reflection before, many times, in fact, and it makes his heart swell just a little. He pokes his tongue and feels the hair at the back of his neck stand due to the chill. 

The mirror grows colder then, when it should be warmer, and Donghyuck pulls away, lips making a popping sound as they unstick. 

His reflection doesn't. It stays. 

It stays and opens its eyes a few seconds too late, eyelashes fluttering. 

Many things have happened on the nights Donghyuck has kissed himself on the mirror. He has orgasmed some, has taken Mark's dick down his throat some. But this. This has never happened before. The blood drains from his face — he knows it does — but the reflection stands beautifully, bathing in the afterglow even though it's been a while.

Then, the reflection demands. Those lips behind the glass stay pressed where they are — flattened, ugly because how could he call them pretty when each imperfect crevice of his own mouth stares back at him, under his own lipstick stains — and Donghyuck feels his unbeating heart fall to the pit of his stomach. There, the acid eats it. The reflection continues to demand; it asks, _what are you doing if you aren't kissing back_ , and Donghyuck suddenly wants to be human again. 

How can someone ever confuse a kiss for something filled with love and passion when it looks like this. Like a stamp of sin. 

His knuckles threaten to break where he holds onto the mirror frame with both hands, with his fingers pressed against the wood hard enough that he fears he'll tear through the polished surface. He leans back as his breath wets the mirror, fast and hot, frightened, and he is forced to watch as fingerprints force their way through and rub the condensation away. 

The reflection draws back then and licks its lips. Its eyes shimmer under the golden lights, much like his own do. Donghyuck takes a shuddering breath, his chest heaves, and his insides shake as if they were caught in a landslide and their only route of escape is to burst out through his lungs. He cannot feel his lungs. He cannot sense anything other than the deafening static that makes a home in his ears. The reflection doesn't even move. It breathes calmly. Gently. 

And then it takes a step backwards as knobbly fingers tug at the knot that holds his robe in place.

It falls onto the floor and the reflection walks over it with careful feet. Donghyuck feels hot all over. He knows he must be red in the face even if his reflection isn't — that motherfucker has a sly smile, ever so charming and scary — and his robe tents where his dick begins to fatten with arousal.

Lust pools in the space between them. Donghyuck fumbles with his robe and it slips down. He is left in the nude, shy of his reflection for the first time, then he walks backwards. With the mattress touching the back of his knees, his figure crumples. He falls onto the bed, bouncing a little, and leans against Mark's cooling body. The reflection settles against mirror Mark's back too, skin against skin, but his hunger is reserved for Donghyuck. It is intoxicating. More so than any wine he has consumed.

The reflection smirks and bares his neck, dark red hair matted to its forehead with sweat. Then it opens its mouth to say something that doesn't reach Donghyuck. All these years and he never learnt to lip-read. What a shame. It holds Donghyuck's gaze as it spreads his thighs more, sweat glistening as it collects in the dips of his pelvis, and runs a slow hand to tease itself. 

He looks venomous. The ringing in Donghyuck's head finally gives way to rushed quiet. Then he imagines. He wonders what this abomination of flesh would sound like. Its throat shines, with a sheen of sweat covering its bruised skin, which makes Donghyuck want to be the cause of that bruising. Frustrated, he lowers his gaze to look at its dick. A tired hand strokes it slowly, then it moves lower, past the ball sack to stimulate the perineum — and the effect is instantaneous. Donghyuck barely looks up in time to see it clenching its teeth, blood-red lips set in a heart. Its eyes are closed and Donghyuck finds it to be a blessing because he can't look away when they are open, when they keep trying to say something he feels threatened by. 

His own cock is half-erect but flushed darkly. He gathers enough spit in his mouth, doing his best to keep staring at his dick, and then spits into his palm. He shakes with poorly disguised fear. Yet, it turns him on. He slathers the head and works his way down from there. Donghyuck feels overwhelmed as he keeps massaging the same area but he has no strength to build up a massive orgasm again. He didn't entirely feel the first one, which makes him certain that Mark will ask to either fuck him or be fucked when he wakes up. He doesn't want to be oversensitive all night. 

Almost as if it could hear his thoughts straying to Mark, the reflection shifts. It spreads its legs further — Donghyuck knows it must hurt like a bitch because he isn't that flexible — and it starts stroking itself fast and hard.

The sight is what brings Donghyuck to full hardness. 

He strokes in unison. He moves his wrist when the reflection does. He moves so slow he grunts in frustration, then he moves so fast his dick threatens to burst with how hard it pulses against his palm. He looks at the reflection, as it spits on its dick and it looks elegant even when it does something so filthy. It looks graceful as its chest pushes out and its spine arches. 

Donghyuck doesn't take long to feel his abdomen tighten. The tension pulls his attention and he finds himself senseless in finding searing pleasure. The orgasm is short and quick. It leaves him breathless, as the smallest things seem to leave him now, and physically static. Then his frame loosens, his shoulders fall from where they had risen, and he wipes his hand on the bedsheets. The reflection palms itself through its orgasm. Its mouth opens in a silent scream as its hand and chest are painted white, and Donghyuck is forced to wonder if it hadn't come before, if it weren't really a creepy manifestation of his occasional daydreams. The body twitches just like Donghyuck's does.

 _Once more_ , it pleads when it recovers — it seems to sizzle with newfound energy which is bad because it is gorgeous — and Donghyuck melts, falling back against Mark's body, eyes burning with the sight of golden skin falling prey to insatiable desire. 

If only it were him. If only Donghyuck could be the Mark in the mirror, he wouldn't be asleep, he would sit up and lose himself in the way he knows his reflection smells, like hatred and fresh blood — like the passion that only fills Donghyuck's veins when he thinks of touching himself. If only he could fill it up. Dick in the hole to pound against the mattress just as he dreams of.

The reflection beckons him closer with two fingers as its other hand snakes lower to prod at his loosened hole. He dips in one, two, three fingers then stretches the darkened skin there, allowing a sliver of his pale walls to peek through. Donghyuck's breath catches in his throat. The sudden pressure in his chest threatens to crush him and he follows wordlessly, just as he has all this time, with sealed lips and curling toes.

If only they could drown together in an ocean made of their broken regrets. He would devour and be devoured gladly.

Nothing lasts forever — not even Lee Donghyuck.

**Author's Note:**

> Lower your Shoulders and Unclench your Jaw.
> 
> Yes the markhyuck was mostly clickbait but the summary was very telling so if you're here, you chose to read this :D In my defense, this was meant to be a mh pwp but eh. I also used the same words a thousand times but whatever. I'm not supposed to be writing anything at all this month TT__TT. Also if you manage to understand what the hell this is, please do tell me. I have no idea.
> 
> Happy December.


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